


In This House We Dance With Ghosts

by Myrime



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 2012 avengers, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Phil Coulson is dead, Post-Avengers (2012), Protective Tony Stark, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Tony Being An Adult, Tony Stark Has A Heart, iron man bingo 3000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 23:46:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19486438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrime/pseuds/Myrime
Summary: On the first anniversary of Phil's death, Clint is left to grieve him alone. When Tony stumbles over him, he has a choice to make. Being a team means being there for each other, even though emotional support is not actually his thing. In the end, it is no choice at all."I'm fine," Clint says, and Tony does not believe him for a second."You do know what fine means, yes?" Tony asks, "Feelings inside not expressed."





	In This House We Dance With Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Iron Man Bingo 2019 Round 2](https://iron-man-bingo.tumblr.com/), square: Avengers: Found Family.
> 
> I'm writing a longer piece at the moment, but I have apparently decided that I can take more work, so I'm doing the Iron Man Bingo again. And since I'm really into the Clint & Tony friendship right now, let's have some feelings with them.  
> Enjoy!

Tony prides himself on having a sixth sense for gauging other people’s moods. Usually, when someone is having an emotional crisis, he uses that to flee before he is being dragged into that mess. Because while he is good at recognizing emotions, he does not know how to handle them.

When he finds Clint sitting at the kitchen table at three in the morning, Tony has a choice to make. His shoulders are dropping and his hands are clenched around a mug to the point where they are trembling. From where Tony is standing in the door, he cannot see Clint’s face, but it is turned to the surface of the table. Despite having been a sniper for SHIELD, Clint is always moving, fiddling, unable to sit still. Now, however, not a single muscle twitches. He is so still, he might just not be breathing either.

Tony thinks about walking right back out of the kitchen and finding his coffee elsewhere. He could message Natasha. She might know what is up with Barton. Thinking back, he has not seen her for some days, meaning that she could be on a mission. Steve is still in the tower, and Bruce too. Even Thor would be better equipped to handle this.

It is not just that Tony has no talent whatsoever for controlling emotional crises, but he hardly thinks that Clint would appreciate him trying. People do not come to him for support of that kind. Perhaps it would be kinder if he just went and built Clint a new bow. That might cheer him up.

Something lets Tony hesitate. Clint’s hunched shape screams misery and Tony is loathe to leave him like this. It is true that Tony is not the best example for how to deal healthily with problems, but no matter how snappish he gets, he is usually glad when he is _not_ left alone.

Taking a deep breath, Tony steps into the kitchen. Normally, Clint would have noticed him long before this, but now he only looks up when Tony makes his steps louder than necessary as he walks over to the coffee machine.

“What’s going on?” Tony asks cheerfully as if he has not mentally prepared himself for this question for the past minutes. “Why do you look like someone snapped your favourite bow?”

He stills when he glances over his shoulder and is met by Clint’s blood-shot eyes. If Clint looked miserable from behind, his face is a hundred times worse. His lips are bitten bloody, not just in one place, which could be ruled an accident, but looks methodically chewed. He is pale and gaunt like he has not slept in days.

A sliver of regret pokes at Tony’s chest as he thinks he should have better left. There is no way he is going to be able to make this better. The greater part of him prickles with determination, though. These days, he feels like his place among the Avengers is secure, and not just because of what he can contribute monetarily to the team. With that comes a sense of duty and, admittedly, friendship. He likes Clint, likes all of them, so he does not want to see any of them suffer like this. 

Clint looks at him for a long moment, likely going through the same motions of wondering what Tony is doing here. “I’m fine,” he then says, not bothering to put much effort into his lie.

The coffee machine beeps, causing Clint to flinch. In turn, Tony’s concern rises another notch.

“Well, that’s not what I asked,” Tony chides, still sounding as unfazed as he can manage. He glances at Clint’s mug, then shrugs and simply fills two new ones. With them in hand, he goes to the table and sits down across from Clint. “Also, you do know what fine means, yes?” he asks as he pushes one of the mugs over. Feelings inside not expressed.”

Clint stares at the mug as if he is not sure what to do with it. Then, slowly, he uncurls his fingers, stretching them, and closes them back around the new mug. He still makes no move to drink any of the coffee but likely just needs something to hold on to.

“Since when are you an expert on expression emotions?” Clint questions gruffly. He glares shortly at Tony before his eyes drop firmly back to the surface of the table.

“I’m not,” Tony agrees, smirking. He leans back in his seat, arms spread in front of him. “I’m the expert on _repressing_ them, however. So you can’t fool me into thinking that’s _not_ what you’re doing.”

Another miniscule flinch ripples through Clint, although his expression does not change. “What do you want?”

Tony keeps silent long enough for Clint to raise his head again to stare at him. They have already passed the point of no return, but Tony thinks he still has to weigh his words carefully.

“To know what’s wrong,” he then says, growing serious. “To help.”

Clint’s lips move into something that wants to be a sneer but falls short, leaving it mangled but just as ugly. “You can’t.”

Tony himself has used these words so often. Problems always seem bigger from the inside. Worse, still, is the thought of taking a chance and opening up to someone else.

As if there is nothing to it, Tony shrugs and says simply, “Try me.”

He is not surprised when Clint’s eyes narrow at him. This is a game he knows by heart. Now come the insults, the unintentional and then the intentional hurt. Tony is a textbook example for these things, he just usually does not get to witness it from the other side. Rhodey and Pepper deal more healthily with anything that troubles them.

“Stark,” Clint speaks up, voice cracking like a whip, “you’re not exactly the go to type where it comes to problems.”

True. Tony _runs_ wherever problems are involved, hides himself away and waits until the storm has blown over or he has built himself a third option to escape a difficult choice. That is not going to help Clint, though.

Tony smiles without humour. “That’s funny, since you’re usually calling my name when you want new toys or when there’s property damage to pay for.”

“Yeah, but that’s –”

Keeping his face calm, Tony cuts him off. “Material things. I get it,” he says with just a hint of bitterness. “I’m not a person, I’m just the money I have.”

That is an argument for another day – another lifetime if Tony would get his way because he does not exactly want to shake up the status quo – so he swallows all resentment this has rising up in his gut and keeps his face as approachable as he can manage.

Clint has the decency to look slightly ashamed. “That’s not what I meant,” he mutters, looking at his hands.

“That’s what everybody means,” Tony argues coolly, then clicks his tongue. “Don’t worry, you’re not the first to tell me so. You weren’t even the most tactless.”

Making a split-second decision, Tony gets to his feet. He even abandons his coffee as he turns to the door. It is a gamble, based entirely on the hope that Clint might swim in misery but is still looking for a shore to safely land at.

Just when Tony thinks he has miscalculated, bodged up helping Clint _and_ lost his coffee, Clint calls out after him.

“Could you please not run off?”

With a huff that only years of acting experience keep from sounding amused, Tony half-turns back, his expression hard.

“Why?” he asks, careful not to sound too cold. “You’re obviously fine, and since there’s nothing you need my wallet for here, I can just as well go. I do have things to do.”

“I didn’t mean to –” Clint interrupts himself. Something in his eyes shutters and then he bites his lips again. Hard. Merely looking at it hurts Tony. “It’s Phil, all right?”

Agent? Tony blinks in surprise. While he wanted Clint to consider opening up, he has not expected him to do so immediately, not all the way. Perhaps Clint is more desperate than Tony first thought if he broke so easily. “What?”

After another long moment, Clint says, almost too quiet to hear, “Today’s Phil’s birthday. It’s his first since –” His knuckles around the mug grow even whiter, and if he does not stop torturing his lips, Tony is going to stuff his mouth with something that will not do more damage.

Showing some untypical patience, Tony waits for Clint to continue, lest he destroys the moment.

“We usually went to that small Italian place if we were both in the country,” Clint says slowly as if he is testing how each word feels on his tongue. “We always knew that one or both of us might not make it someday, but we still made the reservation for several years ahead. It was like a promise. But now –” He blinks hard then stares at a point between them on the table, seeing something that is invisible for Tony. “I thought I could go anyway, but Natasha’s on that stupid mission and – Phil’s dead and I –” Clint’s voice breaks, causing him to take a deep breath. When he resumes talking, there is new steel in his voice. “That’s what’s going on. Happy now?”

Clint’s glare hits Tony like a physical punch. Unshed tears cause his eyes to glisten, making him look almost delirious. Tony knows he is the complete opposite, so rooted in this inescapable reality that there is no choice but to take a stand and fight.

“Not at all,” Tony says firmly, without any of the snappishness he might have used in any other situation. He almost physically feels Clint’s grief pushing against his skin, feels the familiarity of it settling inside his bones.

Leaning forward, although not enough to invade Clint’s space, Tony claps his hands. “But, all right, we have several options here,” he exclaims in a pointedly business-like tone. “We can go to that restaurant anyway, you and I, or whoever else you want.” He begins counting off his fingers. “We can order in from there. We can also have a celebration tonight. The others don’t need to know why if you don’t want them to, but tell Thor we’re having a party and he’ll surely distract you. Before you know it, you’ll be laughing again. Agent wouldn’t have wanted you to hide away being miserable.”

That last bit was a miscalculation, Tony realizes as soon as the misery in Clint’s eyes turns sharp.

“Don’t call him that,” Clint snaps, looking surprised by the venom in his voice but not like he regrets it. “His name is – _was_ – Phil. Coulson if you have to.”

Tony has had a similar conversation with Steve shortly after Coulson’s death. Back then, he deflected the topic with a biting quip. Now, however, he feels like Clint deserves the truth. At least parts of it.

“I know that,” Tony says calmly, but waits since he sees as much as he knows from experience that Clint would cut him off anyway.

“Then why don’t you call him that?” Clint demands, eyes growing sharper with reawakened anger. Tony is glad that he is digging himself out of his directionless grief. “I know you don’t respect anyone, but he deserves better than this.”

His face serious, Tony nods. “He deserved better than he got. But Agent has always been my nickname for him.”

That does not alleviate Clint’s anger even a little bit. “It’s not a nice one.”

“I knew Agent. Before Afghanistan or the Avengers,” Tony explains slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I’m sure he thought I couldn’t remember him with how distant he was when he came to _debrief_ me after Afghanistan. He was always running after Fury when I came to visit SHIELD with Aunt Peggy.” He smiles, remembering how he loved these outings. “They sometimes put him on babysitting duty while they were taking care of the real work. He let me draw on his mission reports.”

Calling him Agent had not been meant as a nickname in the beginning. Tony had just been too young to pronounce Coulson correctly, but since Howard used to get easily irritated when Tony messed up something as simple as _words_ , Tony found a simple way out. Adults, he learned that early on, like to be called by their titles and honorifics. Later, the name stuck because it fit. It has always been meant kindly, though.

Caught up in memories, Tony misses the way Clint’s expression morphs into one of surprise and then curiosity. His shoulders uncurl a bit from their hunched position, even while his hands stay where they are, holding the mug in front of him like a shield.

Clint clears his throat. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks, looking like he is not sure what to think of this revelation or whether he should feel guilty for snapping at Tony.

Tasting the regret on his tongue, Tony smiles sadly. “He didn’t seem to like me very much.” The indifference with which Agent had met Tony’s adult self had hit him hard since he used to admire him as a child and always felt safe with him – which is not a feeling he had around many grown-ups. “That’s not an unusual reaction,” he adds, putting as much nonchalance into it as he can muster, “I didn’t exactly grow up into someone likeable.”

For a moment, Clint looks like he is going to say something to that, but Tony is glad when he shakes his head and thinks better of it. He knows his failings well enough, and he is tired of other people going on about them. 

“He never told me about this either,” Clint admits, not looking away from Tony as if he is gauging his reaction. “But, well, he did cut you more slack than he might have any other billionaire gone rogue with untested tech. I thought that was strange.”

Despite the situation, Tony chuckles. He has always felt uncomfortable under Agent’s scrutiny, as if Agent was another of his childhood heroes Tony disappointed.

“Don’t read too much into that,” he says dryly. “He would have tased me to kingdom come if I had danced out of line.”

To Tony’s delight, a small grin steals itself on Clint’s lips. “Which you would never.”

“Right?” Tony asks, drawing out the word. They share a smile. Using Clint’s lifted mood, he asks, “Anyway, what’s it going to be?”

The smile drops immediately from Clint’s face, but he keeps his head up, does not crumble again. Quietly, he says, “I don’t think I want to go out.”

He looks at Tony as if he expects judgement for this. Because of that, Tony makes a show of nodding his acquiescence.

“Okay,” he says easily. “Takeout then? With the rest of the team?”

It is clear that Clint does not want to see anyone, considering the way his expression sours. Still, he shrugs – brave in the way the convicted do when there is no escaping their fate.

“I’m sure Steve will be put out if we don’t invite him,” Clint says, and Tony thinks it is curious that he picked out Steve specifically. He is sure that is not just because Steve used to temporarily work for SHIELD and therefore has more of a connection to Agent than Thor or Bruce. “And someone’s bound to find out we’re having food delivered.”

Glad that Clint’s problem is one Tony can easily solve, Tony shrugs, his shoulders feeling weightless. “Who cares?” he asks lightly. “We’ll go up to the roof and have JARVIS make sure no one can come up. Just because Steve knew Agent peripherally too, doesn’t mean you have to want him there.”

For a moment, it seems like Clint is going to accept. The he pauses, swallows, and asks, “What if I don’t want you there?”

The words hit with a bit of delay, landing like punches against Tony’s sternum before they fully register in his mind. To be honest, he is not even surprised but unable to stop himself from being hurt by it. He takes a deep breath to keep his expression even, and shrugs with all the nonchalance he can muster.

“Then JARVIS will keep me out too,” he says and means it. “As long as you promise not to jump from the roof or something like that. We’d have to interfere then. Otherwise, you’re welcome to take all the time you need.”

They look at each other, unblinking. Tony cannot help the tenseness keeping his spine ramrod straight, while Clint’s face is unnervingly blank – at least right until he smiles.

“All right,” Clint exclaims suddenly, with more energy than he has shown since Tony entered the kitchen. “Takeout then. Not Italian. Maybe bring some of the good scotch too.”

His mouth dry, Tony asks, “Bring?” He does not trust his ears. Growing up amongst people who say one thing and mean another, this has been a valuable lesson once upon a time. “You mean send up?”

“No, _bring_ ,” Clint repeats firmly. Despite looking closely, Tony cannot detect any lie or even discomfort on Clint’s face. “I want you to tell me everything about baby Agent Phil.”

Slowly beginning to believe that this is happening, Tony does not stop the smile spreading on his lips. This feels like a bigger step forward than he has managed in all the time the Avengers have been living with him now. This token of trust, a shared emotion other than the brief delight of them still being alive after a battle.

Drowning the last of his coffee, Tony gets to his feet, desperate to not let this opportunity pass them by.

“Put on a jacket,” he advises as he puts his mug in the sink. “It gets cold up there. The scotch might keep you warm, but believe me when I say it doesn’t save you from getting sick.”

His sudden elation must have infected Clint too, because that is the widest smile the archer has shown all day.

“I’m sure that depends on how much you drink,” Clint quips dryly, sounding close to suggesting a bet.

“Challenge accepted.” Tony grins. He will win that one, considering how much experience he has. Tomorrow morning they will likely both curse this decision. Until then, though, this feels good. “Now, Thai sound all right?”

Clint nods, but does not say anything. Tony gives him time to back out, to find some threadbare excuse and do something better with his time.

A minute passes and Clint still looks as determined as before.

“Then let’s meet up on the roof in twenty.”

“It’s a date,” Clint says, smiling.

Agent truly deserved better than he got. Now, they might at least celebrate his memory in a way he would have liked. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think.


End file.
